Indenture -- the Magicienne

Indenture -- The Magicienne

Escorted by Angie, the tall crewcut blonde administrator proudly sporting the emblem of her authority, `The Institute's' sundial crest over the breast pocket of her navy-blue blazer, I was walking down a brightly lit white tiled corridor in The Institute's Central Headquarters.

Ahead of us were Glenda, a naked slave freshly repossessed today, dark hair closely cropped fashionably in a boyish style, who had come here seeking an extension on repaying her note and Sandy a guard whose powerful biceps were evident in the ripples of her grey uniform shirt sleeves.

I recognized the guard Sandy by her bulging muscles. When I passed out from application of white hot branding irons to my bare butt some time ago in connection with my application for a loan, that puny little thing, Sandy, chanted a ditty, "on one cheek, we imprint a bar code to secure your identity, on the other, The Institute's seal, the sundial in propriety emblazoned in perpetuity." My muscles went into spasms when the brand was applied. "Officially, darling," Sandy declared, "you are property."

I felt my butt being swabbed, my bonds released and the sensation of being assisted by the guard, supporting me under my arm, grasping me around my waist and leading me away.

I couldn't see or move under my own locomotion, but I could hear and feel. I remarked to myself succinct. This puny guard hides a bundle of muscles under her coveralls. Bad girl that I am by instinct, I'd like to see Sandy out of uniform and admire her physique!

Now ahead of me, Sandy, proudly strutting in her uniform, escorted with disdain Glen reduced to a naked slave. It would take a strong dose of magic, the intervention of an invisible hand, to wrest that uniform off that powerful body.

Though being marched toward the transfer point for shipment to auction as a naked slave, fully exposed, Glenda walked head high, fully composed, hips swinging, with her guard chattering.

Sandy praised Glen for her cooperation, "It makes the process so much easier on all concerned. I can escort you straight to the cages, rather than draw personnel needed at reception where the runners and defaulters are dragged in."

"Whatever would be the point?" chirped Glen. "What magic wand might an invisible hand invoke that could conjure up a cancellation of the inevitable result?"

I chuckled. Magic indeed! I knew some of Glenda Green's capabilities. "A woman's magic come from her inner being," Glen had told me in her inimitable style, "not in her raiments seeming, from her hands unseen, she wields the power of a sovereign Queen." Glen was no simple naked slave escorted to the cages. I had learned from my contact with her that if magic could change the direction in which she seemed to be headed, Glenda had it.

Indeed, Glen had driven me here this morning. I had come for a meeting with Dr Crenshaw the Director to finalize the terms of my indenture.

During the drive Glen inquired about my 15 day notice. Taking it from my purse, I read it aloud, "pending surrender or repossession you may not do any act which would impair the value of our collateral, injure your person, participate in hazardous activities, including engage in sexual intercourse, use drugs or alcohol ..."

"I'm afeared, I'd make no payments if refraining from those hazards," Glen quipped in a cheery voice.

Dressed in a crisp business suit as she usually did whenever she applied for a new extension, Glenda turned into the Institute's parking area more confident than hopeful.

"Dress to impress, the magic of proper attire," Glenda taught, "Hold your head higher, treated as an honored guest, rather than a defaulting liar, never come in tatters, even undressed, your clothes invite comment, preserve the aura of success, your status matters."

I expressed astonishment at her nearly absolute self -- assurance.

"I'll be out tending to my clientele in an hour or two," Glen forecast, "I'll promise to my note, I'll be true, then stripped, poked and prodded and out in a few," Glenda paused for effect. "that's my day; what about you?" Glen asked as she brought the car to a stop in The Institute's parking lot.

I sighed as I presented the nude photo of my daughter that The Institute would have advertised the sale of her person, if I had defaulted, "Not very decent," I commented, "My husband and I gave our bond, our assent, and went into debt to keep our daughter from being sent into spas my husband frequent. My salary sufficiently secured adequate re -- payment, until the job was lost to the ignorance of Artificial Intelligence. My obligation delinquent, The Institute gave notice of my reduction to servitude."

"You and not your husband?" Glen queried.

"My old job lost to artificial intelligence created an opportunity at The Institute," I replied, "If I don't fix things now, my husband could end up screwing his own daughter in a house of ill-repute."

"Cute girl. It's tragic!" Glen admired the picture. "She'll sell in an hour, maybe less. So, to save her, you've surrendered," Glen sighed. Her voice turned resolute, "Not for me! I don't have the endurance, I prefer my liberty, chancing getting extended, working the magic, as long as the invisible hand works for me."

Inside, the Institute's Reception Center observed its usual procedure in processing visitors, the same as when I originally applied for a loan.

Marched with a group of 30 women into the Institute's recreational facility and stood on the foul line of a basketball court, Glenda standing next to me whispered to me, pointed out The Institute's sundial symbol painted over the center. "Is it a warning time is up?"

I gulped. Is it really over?

For me, the answer would be yes. My husband will remain at large.

"Quite an anomaly," Glen was shocked when I explained the arrangement, "you pledged your bodies jointly, to secure the debt. He remains at large intact, But you lose your liberty, your freedom to act."

"Driven by the design," I replied, "to service the bottom line, The Institute to maximize its profit, weighs the yield from a middle-aged man intact in stark dollars and sense, against cost of processing for auction in time and expense. It's the diktat of the market, he keeps the loose change in his pocket and serves out his bondage, ignominiously as an informant." I sighed, "Tragic or magic, you decide."

Glenda reflected on her magic, "What does the magic so carefully guarded, in my request for time to make payment, Freedom to go wherever I please, to choose my own clothes, my raiments, to work to set my own fees, to go hither and far in my own car, to the dignity of my own last name, to relish in the gleam of being addressed as Ms Glenda Greene."

On the basketball court, the small muscular guard Sandy went along the foul lines ordering the women to strip for a medical appraisal, "whether you're here for a new loan to be processed or requesting an extension or for a meeting with administration, I need you girls to strip. The doctor is very busy with intake of truckloads of debtors repossessed. So, let's get naked and ready for assessment of the value of The Institute's investment."

Passing down the line, the guard noticing an 18 year old blonde, stripped down to an expensive lacy frilly cup A bra, tartly snarled, "Talk about sweet nothings in sight! Little more than skeeter bites. Not much to brag about there! No wonder you're behind in your payments! Why would you waste your pence on such an expensive undergarment?"

Taking a deep breath as if inflating her flat chest, the blonde, reaching behind her to unhook her bra, retorted, "Making your heart throb keeps you in a job."

Ignoring the comment, muscular Sandy sneered, "Whatever you still have on when the doc waddles out will be cut off."

First to present herself in the altogether, the blonde teased the guard, "To feel a cool breeze chill on my hairless pussy or plant goosebumps on my flat board tummy, is as cheery a treat as feeling the cold tease my bare feet."

Next to me on the foul line, I glanced in Glenda's direction. Still fully dressed for work in a pinstriped suit as the guard approached, Glen smiled. She looked down at her feet. Did I see a flash? There her business suit gone, Glenda now stood in a matching white frilly bra and thong. A garter belt held up her stockings. Glenda neatly folded her blouse, jacket and skirt in her sack, Was there another flash? Her underwear vanished. She stood naked dangling her lacy frillies from her hand.

"Good girl," Sandy, the grey jacked security officer passing by, applauded Glenda as Glenda dropped her underclothes in the sack. Stripped naked, Glenda, placed her hands on her hips to thrust out her bare chest in the guard's face. Entranced by Glenda's breasts bobbing with every breath and tingled by the mesmerizing effect of the rise and fall of the enticingly erect nipples, the guard didn't notice Glen had somehow removed her stockings intact without kicking off calf high boots. Eyes glued on Glen's erect nipples, Sandy complimented Glenda, "Never fret. We can count on you for a good display of swinging tits."

"Pure magic!" Glen exclaimed, "truly miraculous!" A devilish smile crept onto her face Just precious!" Glen jiggled her breasts supporting them with the palms of her hands, running her nipples between her fingers. "Simply luscious?"

Turning away, Sandy sighed, "if I only had a few spare moments today! I need a good tussle in the sheets, a brief foray."

I was sure I saw a blinding flash surround Glenda. When vision returned, Glen was barefoot. She shot me a seductive smile, blew me a kiss and assuaged my fear that I might be crazy with the soft whisper, "Believe," Glen commanded, "in the magic of the unseen gesticulations of the invisible hand!"

Now on the march to the cage for transfer to auction, where was the magic that could save Glen?

As if reading my mind, Angie suggested, "You think our treatment of the slave girl..."

"Glenda," I interjected. I stopped myself from uttering Glen's last name. A slave, even me, has no family, no last name.

"Oh, yes, Glenda," Angie continued, "hmm--the Chiro -- actress. Upon voluntary surrender, Glenda wanted reinstatement of her loan and extensions. We offered her further medical education and high caste status respect due accordingly to her profession. She turned us down, total rejection. Let's peak into the reception where defaulting debtors upon their apprehension usually receive personal inspection."

I sighed. I was spared the humiliation of reduction to serfdom. I had not been paraded naked under guard through the Institute's corridors. Still, my walk with Angie, the principal aide to The Institute Director served a similar purpose as the display several paces ahead. I wouldn't be stripped naked, caged and transported to auction -- for now. I had saved my daughter from some of the consequences of her folly. I would be a slave but one with a professional status.

"The Institute's sense of justice, is linked to its essential purpose," Angie reminded me, "the bottom line profit inherently conceives that debits cannot exceed accounts received."

Angie, Institute Director Dr Crenshaw's principal assistant, was introducing me to the Institute's processing facility, my new home, my cage if you will, a pleasant gilded one, where I would be the new head of human resources. "Laura," Angie, grabbing the lapels of the blazer I wore, congratulated me, "I like your attire, it's attractive. It embodies the Institute's unyielding, authoritative impact the Institute likes. All the business suit needs is the crest, symbolizing time in personal service under contract, that the Indenturee pledges as security for repayment."

"Thank you," I expressed my gratitude, "But I can hardly claim credit. I'm wearing the outfit of an Indenturee who, dressed for work, came to the Institute looking for an extension on her note, fully expecting after a medical examination to be freed, dress returned, restored to payment status, released and sent on her way."

Glen had taught me to dress well for my occasional visits to The Institute prior to surrendering on my indenture. "Even though you have to strip bare, you're treated better than if you come in rags." In fact, this morning, I had worn one of Glen's outfits, a dark skirt suit, with a white blouse and red cummerbund. Deeming it too gaudy to wear to breakfast at Dr Crenshaw's table, Angie presented the pinstriped suit Glen had worn.

I was being tested. Concealing my astonishment, I chose to don Glen's clothes as a matter of good sense.

"A certain magic attaches to proper attire," Tall lean Dr Crenshaw dressed in a dark Edwardian suit with bow tie, took up the seat in the center of the white table clothed dais, master table which looked down on two circular tables, one for Dr Crenshaw's sister's children accompanied by their nurse maid and the other for adult officers of the Institute.

Angie, Dr Crenshaw's principal aide and attorney seated me to Doctor's right. "You're an honored guest. Doctor will want to explain your duties." Angie took up a position next to me carefully watching my every move.

"Your clothing imparts your status and authority," Dr Crenshaw observed. "not only over indenturees, repossessed or surrendering but also over my official family, principal officers of the Institute at our breakfast meeting."

Dr Crenshaw leaned over to inquire about a breast pocket patch with the Institute's crest. Dr Crenshaw's question to Angie was interrupted by the entrance of his sister Meg. Her bulbous belly bulging under a simple white shift, Meg took a seat on Dr Crenshaw's left, followed by two brawny male security officers in sharply pressed grey tunics.

Rubbing Meg's belly, Dr Crenshaw noted, "Now with my second child; her fifth. Nonetheless as round as she's gotten, she's up at 5AM ready for morning exercises before our informal conference at breakfast. Do you think, Laurie, you can keep up the pace?"

After I vowed that I intended to try, Dr Crenshaw turned to Aggie. "Angie, would you make sure we get Laurie one an Institute crest for her breast pocket?" To me, Dr Crenshaw expressed that "it will complete the look of suitable business clothing."

"I honestly can't claim credit, Doctor. I must confess," I replied, "for what Angie has ordained. My choice, a solid black skirt suit rejected. The crimson cummerbund too gaudy to be worn at your table, Angie suggested, this pinstriped suit an indenture who surrendered. The indenturee fully expected to be extended and fully dressed in this suit released. Fate instead intervened, she was repossessed, her clothes forfeit and whisked away in a whirl reduced to a naked slave girl."

"Glenda, the chiro -- actress, out of her mind," Angie reminded Dr Crenshaw, as short slender male servers in black pants and white shirts scurried about began pouring coffee, "a professional indenture offered, she declined."

"In business, you take advantage of opportunity presented by fate," Dr Crenshaw spoke didactically, "whether it comes to you by misprize, miscalculation or mistake."

"Though I may regret," I acknowledged as waitresses in black dresses took orders for breakfast, "when others err and fail to claim their due, you profit, their magic falls to you."

Silence fell. My words hung un-responded on the air. The tension was broken when a goblet was dropped. The servers, all trainees looked on in horror, fearful of a paddling. When the goblet bounced off the smokey grey terrazzo floor, Dr Crenshaw laughed. What magic had I witnessed?

"We don't use fine crystal with trainees," Dr Crenshaw explained, "It's a heavy plastic made to look like crystal." Rising and excusing himself from the table, Dr Crenshaw reminded Angie to have me meet with him in the sauna, after completion of my orientation and explanation of my duties.

Escorting me on my orientation, Angie reminded, "An Indenturee's person and property, upon default, are subject to the Institute's requirements. The Institute disposes of the indenturee and his or her property based upon the most profitable outcome for the Institute. An Indenturee, even you or me, who fails in the conditions of her indenture, must anticipate that the Institute will act rationally in accord with sound business sense."

I chuckled. I not only knew Glen, the naked girl being out-processed to auction, after her body execution, but now I wore her clothes, deemed by Angie more appropriate for my breakfast meeting with Dr Crenshaw.

The slave girl Glen and her escort continued down the corridor, while Angie directed me through a doorway that led to the loading dock.

I stood on the Loading dock, where Angie was to address newly recaptured naked and bound Indenturees unloaded from deuce and half military style trucks. "The capture teams strip the delinquents at the collection point." Angie spoke in a cold voice, "Removed from the cages, the indenturees are kept naked during shipment."

Watching the naked men and women struggle to wiggle off the back of the trucks, I asked Angie why ship them naked?

"Nudity signifies reduction of status to raw material, pending classification and determination of their utility to the Institute." Angie reminded me with a half -- smile, "It's an issue of control. Held naked, delinquent indenturees are easier for us to handle, harder for them to escape."

Escape, I wondered, how will Glenda manage her magic this time? As long as her hands are free, there is that chance. With Angie staring, I, keeping my own counsel, I limited the comment to "Raw material kept in the raw."

"In classification," Angie chuckled as she responded, "human resources, your job, will select the raw material for refinement, molding and training for private sale or simply shipping it to auction."

Led by guards shouting and screaming, indenturees, heads bowed, by cable ties hobbled on bare feet bound in front of the loading dock. Females' chests were obscenely thrust out by hands secured behind them. Male genitalia was secured by a chastity device. When the noise died down, Angie began her 'welcoming' speech.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Angie. Like you, I am an Indentured Servant. Like you, I no longer have a last name. One day not very long ago. I stood among you. I, however, proved my worth. I have earned appointment."

Grey jacketed security guards hissed orders for quiet.

With the audience quieted, Angie continued her welcoming address, "I'm now the administrative assistant to Dr Philip Crenshaw, director of The Institute and for the moment your master. Welcome to the Institute where, in the days and weeks ahead, you will processed.

"Your in -- processing this morning will take four principal stages: identification, medical inspection, branding, if required, and preliminary classification. Your cooperation is essential. Some may be restored to freedom, with reinstatement of your note; if you are employed, we could return you to your former job, others will be retained for retraining in a useful, suitable role; others who choose to put up a fight will be sent to auction. It's your choice. Welcome to the Institute."

Taking a deep breath, Angie ordered, "OK shear, shower and shave them clean."

As Angie and I stood by on the loading dock as the first of the indenturees marched onto the dock to be secured in the barber's chair for their mane to be clipped down to stubble, Glen's escort brought Glen for a shearing. The barber grabbing Glen's chin turning it from right to left, "her head is kennel clipped, acceptable for auction."

Glenda giggled when the barber running a finger along her inner thighs and on her mound exclaimed, "freshly clipped landing strip, It'll pass" Turning to Angie, the barber protested, "Look, Angie, I've got 100 tangled heads to clip and that many hairy bushes I must insist. I don't need hers to add to my list."